Philip
by OUATLovr
Summary: Philip is not as young as he once was. He isn't certain when this came to pass, as he remembers his "glory days," quite well, but he's not about to let his Boy realize it, not if he can help it.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: All right, I needed to get out all of my Edmund feels after _Awakened_ , so I decided to write this little piece of sickeningly sweet fluffiness. Please leave a review and let me know what you think of it.

Chapter 1

The feasting in celebration of the arrival of the Calormen tradesmen- along with their Prince, who had, as all men who entered Cair Paravel and were not her siblings did, taken an interest in Queen Susan- was lasting long into the night. Though he would never admit it to Lucy, who would never let him live it down, as she seemed quite awake tonight herself, Edmund was getting tired.

He stubbornly believed the tiredness truly came from his absolute boredom, though, rather than the grueling sparring session Oreius had put him through that morning.

Edmund had never enjoyed feasts. At first, the Just King had imagined them to be great parties, where everyone could eat their fill and dance under the moonlight long past Susan's imposed bedtime. He had thought there would be tournaments and games and...just maybe Peter would let him have a sip of champagne while Su's back was turned.

The feasts in Narnia were like this, when they were held on Dancing Lawn and the dryads pulled him and his siblings into elaborate dances that made even Susan trip up on her feet. The fawns would teach Edmund and Lucy dances that Susan never fount out about, but which Peter laughed over, and the centaurs would engage in an intense drinking game that Peter would sneak into when he thought no one was looking; usually resulting in his coughing at the burning liquid, and Edmund's amusement.

Edmund found himself wishing that the traders would leave so that such a feast could take place. But even if they all left early tonight, the traders were to be here for some days afterward. The dryads were far too shy to dance in front of strangers, and Edmund supposed it would look rather undignified for the High King of Narnia to become so drunk that he began spilling state secrets to Calormenes. Susan played hostess, as she usually did, and they all sat around a long, white dining table, eating and listening to music while the Calormenes regaled them with...poetry.

Every once in a great while, a potentially intoxicated man would stand up and give a speech - usually about Queen Susan, or peace - both of which usually turned lewd, before he was asked to sit down once more.

The prime entertainment of the evening.

Edmund tried to enjoy it, the first time, he really had.

Then there was dancing, but no one besides Lucy ever asked Edmund to dance. He had a feeling that Susan would dance with him, too, if she could, but the Gentle Queen was always surrounded by a long line of potential suitors wishing to spend a few moments on the dance floor with her.

At least he and Lucy and were allowed to stay up past Susan's wickedly early bedtime tonight, but right now, Edmund could not find it within himself to be very thrilled about that.

If he had been staying up late to go riding with Philip, or practice with the sword, then perhaps Edmund would have been more so.

Beside him, a young Calormene Lady continued on in her tale about...come to think of it, Edmund couldn't really remember. He turned to her, attempting to pay better attention.

She had been talking to him for most of the night, making her intentions clear, Edmund felt. But he did not like suitors any more than Susan, and was, in his own admitted opinion, far too young for them, and the sight of this girl, obviously trying to gain his attentions and his hand in marriage, made him just as sick as when every other young lady threw herself at him.

Peter said that, one day, he would grow to like these attentions. That he would be thankful that the girls all thought him rather handsome, and all such rot. Edmund didn't believe him for an instant; he had yet to see Peter fare any better with _his_ lady companions, after all.

Lucy and Susan never bored him with their conversations so much.

"And then I told the tarkaan that such advances were not befitting to a nobleman. He was properly chastised and left me alone from then on. I feel great peace about it; I did not want to marry him to begin with, and I am sure _you_ would never do something so ill-befitting of a gentleman, O Noble King." The Tarkheena glanced at Edmund then, and he forced himself to nod and make it appear as though he had been paying attention this whole time while she trailed her terrifyingly thin finger down his arm.

Peter was usually the one with ladies trailing behind him whenever there were guests in Cair, the one with "exotic golden tresses," as Edmund had once heard his older brother's hair described, but none of the ladies tonight seemed particularly interested in the Narnian High King, only Edmund. For good measure, Edmund sent a glare towards his brother as the older boy conversed with the Prince and Susan.

Peter either did not notice or pretended not to. Edmund highly suspected that it was the latter, if the small smirk curling the corner of Peter's lower lip was anything to go by.

The Tarkheena continued her story with particular relish now, with the hopes that she had properly ensnared her audience.

Edmund tried to artfully disguise a yawn by lifting a hand to his mouth and choking it off into a cough at the last minute, but he didn't think Susan had been fooled. She glanced at him in concern and opened her mouth to say something, but Edmund was rescued in that moment by the Calormene prince sitting beside Susan at the dining table.

"In Calormen, it is said by the poets that the rose is a symbol of beauty, my lady. I am pleased that you took it upon yourself to wear that small token of my affections for you" the man interrupted, and Edmund smiled, ducking out of Susan's sight and trying to think of a creative way to leave the room without being noticed or harped upon to return and sit down.

No one seemed to notice his departure from the table except the Tarkheena, who simply shrugged and sent him a small smile, and Lucy, who cast a look of worry in his direction.

He winked at her, still taking care to make sure no one else noticed, and a mischievous glint lit her eyes. She gave him a nod before turning back to her dinner companions; Mr. Tumnus and Starwing, an eagle soldier in the army that Lucy had taken an interest in after he saved her life during an attack on the castle.

Of course, fate never seemed to shine on Edmund, he thought in good humor, as a fawn hurried to his side at the distressed look on his face, effectively blocking his poorly thought out escape.

"Is there anything you require, my lord?" the fawn asked with concern, holding up a pitcher of wine in one hand and a few extra napkins in the other.

For a moment, glancing up at the fawn's sincere face, Edmund was tempted to ask for some wine. He knew the fawn wouldn't give him any per Susan's orders, but it wouldn't hurt to ask, right?

Then he saw the doorway to his escape, to freedom. There were none around it, as it was the door to the ball room, and, beyond that, lead down a hallway to the stables. A moment ago, a centaur had been blocking it, but now he was free.

He turned grateful eyes upon the centaur, even as he attempted to convince the fawn. "No, thank you, I just need some fresh air."

The fawn appeared ready to argue, knowing what Susan had said earlier, jokingly, about not letting her siblings "escape," but then thought better of it, nodding gracefully. "Does his majesty wish me to keep this from the Gentle Queen so that you are not quickly called back to the table?"

A slow grin split Edmund's lips and he nodded gratefully. "For as long as possible, yes."

The fawn also smiled, bowing to him. "Then I shall do my best, my liege. Though I fear that I must warn you; her Majesty will soon find out regardless."

Edmund sighed. "Yes, well, I'd better hurry and enjoy it while possible, then."

And Edmund escaped the Great Hall, disappearing into the ball room. It was not exactly his first choice of an escape route, given the number of Narnians in here, but it would have to do.

Dozens of Narnians hovered around the otherwise empty room, making preparations for the dance that would take place later tonight. Edmund highly suspected that if he stayed, he would not have the pleasure of dancing with Lucy, and would be forced to spend his night with his stalemate. Given how exciting that prospect sounded, he did not feel inclined to stay.

Garlands were hung, food tables were placed out at the sides of the room, and fauns skittered past, carrying platters laden with food.

Deftly swiping a cream cake as it passed, far too close for Edmund to pass up the temptation, he slipped it into the pocket of his trousers for later. He might get hungry after another sparring session, and the delicate helpings that were eaten during this supposed "feast" had done nothing to quell his hunger so far.

"My lord!" a put-out Mrs. Fox suddenly snapped from across the room, scampering over quickly at the sight of Edmund's thievery, or perhaps at the Just King entering this part of the castle before the feast was over at all.

So. Perhaps this was not the best exit plan.

"Mrs. Fox!" Edmund attempted a brave face, hand slipping unconsciously into his trouser pocket and tightening around the cake, like a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar. He didn't know why he felt so guilty; he was a king, after all, and had likely bought the cake himself with the allowance he had put away for this particular celebration anyways. Or so he told himself to assay the small feeling of guilt creeping up.

Mrs. Fox scowled at him. "What in Aslan's name are you doing in the ball room at this hour? The ball does not begin for another-" she glanced around in confusion for a moment, her eyes lighting on something Edmund couldn't see that apparently brought clarity, "Forty minutes."

"Ah, yes." As he tried to think up a suitable excuse for his early departure, Edmund breathed a silent sigh of relief that she had not noticed the snatched cream cake. "Well, you see, I was beginning to worry about the guards outside, at the stables and on the walls. Seeing as they haven't got any warm foods or treats tonight with the feast, while we have all been gluttonously enjoying ourselves..."

Mrs. Fox squinted at him, and he knew that she did not believe his words for a single instant. "Yes, I suppose you are on your way to the stables then, my king." It was not a question that needed answering, but he did so anyway.

Edmund grinned rather sheepishly. "And whatever would have given you that impression, my dear Mrs. Fox?" his eyes lighted on a goblet of wine, teetering past on an old tray as a young hound, clearly new at his work, attempted to carry it. Swiping the goblet off the tray, he brought the sloshing liquid to his lips. Closing his eyes at the chance to savor it-

The goblet was ripped from his hands by Mrs. Fox, the red liquid spilling through the air at a disappointing amount as she held it up in front of squinting black eyes, the claws on her paws suddenly disturbingly sharp. Examining the contents of the goblet, she turned disapproving eyes on Edmund.

Her glare was enough to make one feel as though they were going to burn in the Land of Tash for all eternity, and Edmund ducked his head, feeling properly chastised. He had dealt often with Mrs. Fox in the past; indeed, Susan employed the dear creature to keep a careful eye on her siblings when she was unable to do so. Edmund couldn't help comparing her to the nursemaid he remembered back home, long ago.

No, that nursemaid was quite different, he was sure of it, though he could not quite remember why.

"Why, the fact that you have disappeared off to the stables every evening for the past three feasts that have been held at Cair for foreign dignitaries. And that blasted Philip hasn't the decency to be proper and send you back, as he ought. Why, you know, last time there were dignitaries from Galma, when you were off gallivanting with that Horse, one of the Galmanians happened to see you two speeding past and asked the High King 'what on earth that strange creature was'? The poor Gentle Queen was mortified, I tell you!"

Right, so there was a hallway at the end of this ball room, if he ever managed to get past dear Mrs. Fox, and then he would be at the Royal Stables, where Philip was undoubtedly waiting for him. He only hoped that his Horse had been able to obtain Edmund's sword earlier, so that there would be no more detours.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Fox," Edmund spoke up suddenly, sidling around her.

Mrs. Fox gave him a knowing look before stepping aside and allowing him to pass with a wink. "I shall tell your brother and sisters that you are indisposed for the night, Your Majesty."

Edmund grinned. "Have I ever told you how great a cook you are, Mrs. Fox?"

She waved a paw. "Oh, go on, already, then!" And then, almost as an afterthought, "Your Majesty."

Edmund grinned, making his escape to freedom through the doors at the end of the hall. Now to find Philip.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

All right guys, never start two (or three) fics at once. It just...doesn't work.

Chapter 2

Philip was not as young as he once was. He wasn't certain when this had come to pass, as he remembered his "glory days" quite clearly, but it was a truth that he knew he would soon have to come to terms with, loathe as he was to do so. He was a war horse, and once the war was over, and Narnia lay at peace, he found that he had outlived his usefulness in more ways than one.

But he took comfort in the fact that he still had one use, and a friend, in his Boy, the younger King of Narnia. For Edmund was both those things, and Philip, though he had resented being told to carry the young traitor into battle at first, found that he could not find a truer companion in all of Narnia.

And Edmund, it seemed, was the only one in Narnia to not yet notice his impending age. Unlike the other Horses, who wondered when Edmund, as his brother had done after his stallion went grey, would find another Horse to take on the honor of carrying him. He had it on good authority that they were already competing for the position.

But Philip was not completely old, indeed, he was not yet even _old_ , only moving in that terrifying direction from which there seemed to be no escape. And he had resolved last week, after the horrifying experience in which Nataoia, whom young Queen Lucy belonged to, a brood mare, had beaten him in a race, that he was not going to allow his age to be an impediment, ever again. He had once been a war horse, after all, and Nataoia was merely a mare from the North.

Edmund laughed off Philip's concerns about it then, just claiming that Philip had an off day, and he should not be so worried about it. As if Philip had ever lost a race against a _mare_ before.

But he was. And the thought of Edmund's plans of impending escape from the feast to join him on a trek of the countryside and find a decent sparring partner amongst the guards, though not in that particular order, did nothing to assuage those fears.

He was to meet Edmund in the stables, as he always did, with his broadsword and chainmail. The guard would soon provide itself, Edmund assured him, and then they would ride to the River Rush, or in that general direction, until High King Peter found them. Or Queen Susan.

It usually did not take long for the High King to do so, and so Philip was not really worried about Edmund getting into much trouble. The older boy disliked the feasts almost as much as Edmund, and seemed to find it particularly amusing, since the incident with the ambassadors from Galma, to go rushing after him as soon as he noticed Ed gone as a chance to slip away himself.

No, what had Philip worried was his clearly showing age. What if the High King caught up so easily with them not because he dashed off at the earliest convenience, but because his Horse was simply younger and far more agile than Philip, now?

By the stars, he could remember when Peter's Horse was but a new foal, born in this very stable.

"Philip!" he heard Edmund hiss from somewhere behind him, and slowly turned in his stall to face him. To stay in the stables tonight so that this little ill-conceived plan could work, when the Horses were out preparing for tomorrow's friendly competition against the Calormenes, he'd had to pretend to be a dumb beast, simply another Calormene stable horse.

It was mortifying.

Needless to say, it had done nothing for his current state, pretending to be content with this meager stall and the dull oats a Calormene stable boy had brought him earlier.

He hated oats. They were not near as sweet as sugar, and his usual stable boys knew better than to bring oats to Philip.

Aslan, if that wasn't proof of his age, he did not know what was.

"Have you got the sword?" his Boy asked then, and he breathed a sigh of relief, determined to turn his mind from his sad musings and enjoy the rest of the night. For his Boy.

"Of course, Sire," he gestured to it, sitting in its scabbed in the straw, barely hidden beneath it in case the young stable boy had returned. And it had not been easy, fetching that sword right under the noses of the Rabbits cleaning it. It would have been much more difficult for Edmund, given all of Susan's warnings, but still.

Edmund gave him an amused look, but did not reach for the sword just yet. "Ed, Philip, just Ed."

Philip grunted. "Come on, then, or your brother will find you and drag you back before we can find a decent sparring partner. I hope you brought me something from that precious feast for my troubles," he grumbled goodnaturedly.

Edmund grinned, suddenly pulling a piece of surprisingly well kept cake from his pocket and gingerly ripping it in half, handing the larger end to Philip.

Now Philip did not normally enjoy Human food, finding it too coarse or slippery, but cake, he'd come to understand, was compiled almost completely of sugar. And this cake, white with frosting and a tint of lemon meringue, was one of the most delicious he had yet tried.

He licked at his lips, nuzzling Ed's shoulder in thanks, and was just about to suggest Edmund climb up when they both heard the unmistakable sounds of a struggle at the stable entrance. Exchanging glances, they both left the stall, Edmund's sword suddenly forgotten in lieu of the sounds they both heard.

"Damn you to Tash, you miserable beast!" the Calormene shouted, two stalls down from them, and Philip eyes widened in horror as the brute lifted a hand and struck the dumb beast again. By then, Edmund was moving, and Philip barely had the presence of mind to call out to him to stop before he was upon the Calormene, and Philip just managing to keep up behind him.

The little mare let out a cry of pain as the ridding crop struck her again, this time drawing splotches of blood across her back legs, the sound so hopeless and mellow that Philip wondered how many times she'd had to endure her master's beatings.

She was a tiny thing, much smaller than he, in fact, barely largely than an ass, her stomach clinging sadly to her ribs, though it was clear by her chestnut color, thin legs and flattened ears that she was, in fact, a horse, and Philip felt a pang of sympathy for her, dumb beast though she was, to have to endure such a thing so many times. The mare lowered her little head despondently as the Calormene raised his whip again, clearly expecting no rescue, and Philip attributed this to the reason she lifted her head moment's later, looking as surprised as a dumb beast could.

"What do you think you're doing?" His Boy demanded, in that voice that was somehow both naively innocent and disturbingly wise, and the Calormene glanced up in surprise and anger, eyes darkening as he took in the tattered jacket that Edmund was wearing over his royal robes ("borrowed" from one of the stable hands, no doubt), and the black riding boots he wore, by no means shiny, for Edmund cared very little about that sort of thing.

The Calormene glanced first at Edmund's appearance, Philip noticed with some disgust, and then at the hand gripping his arm, keeping him from delivering another stinging blow to the little mare.

Philip supposed he must have thought Edmund an Archenlander, a stable boy given his job here in Narnia for some feat or another, or he would never have done what he did next.

"You dare to question me, boy?" the Calormene demanded, wrenching his arm from Edmund's and advancing on Edmund so quickly that Philip wasn't able to move forward in time, sensing what was about to happen. Edmund, it seemed, was not.

"She'd ride better if you didn't beat her half to death before even getting on," Edmund continued on, unperturbed by the man's rather threatening demeanor, though Philip noticed that His Boy sounded angry, then, hiding it carefully behind an overly calm façade, but gritting his teeth rather tightly.

Two things happened at once, then.

The riding crop smacked loudly against Edmund's pale cheek, instantly drawing blood as an ugly spot of blood appeared beneath Edmund's eye, welling and dribbling down his face. There would be a bruise tomorrow, Philip was sure of it. Might even have been one forming now. Philip growled, infuriated that anyone would lay a hand on His Boy, on one of the Kings of Narnia, and lunged forward, perfectly content to attack this Calormene brute.

He could remember, well enough, the awful tales that Edmund had told him in the dead of night, during a ride through the countryside which had been cut short by snow, not wanting to bother his siblings with them and cause concern but needing to tell someone, of the Witch, and how she had whipped him and, once, beaten him for any transgressions.

He had vowed then, hearing the haunted tone in Edmund's voice and knowing it wasn't entirely from his own misfortune at the Witch's hand, that he would never allow another to lay a hand on his Edmund, and, without a thought, _reacted_.

He had never attacked a Man before, even one so unsavory as this Calormene, and some part of his mind felt vaguely disgusted with himself, for it was Dumb Beasts which lifted their hooves against Man, not Talking Horses, but that hardly mattered.

This was Edmund he was protecting, after all.

Edmund simply stood there, cheek smarting, one hand lifting to touch the wound and then flinching back, and Philip wondered if the boy was simply too shocked to react, or was willing to let Philip do his worst.

Somehow, he doubted the likelihood of the latter.

And, just as he'd reached the Calormene, front hooves lifting in the air, Edmund raised a hand, effectively stalling him.

Philip sighed, lowering his legs and waiting for Edmund to make a decision about what to do now.

Still, Philip was not pleased to do so.

"And who do you think you are, boy, to challenge me and lecture me on the care of my horse?" the Tarkaan demanded, yanking back the riding crop as if to strike again, and Edmund took an involuntary step back, nearly crashing into Philip.

It turned out to be unnecessary, for a cool voice, though none, not even this Tarkaan, could mistake the lethal anger behind it, spoke then. "That is my brother, King Edmund the Just. Lay another hand on him and you will find yourself at the mercy of the executioners, for I believe that is the punishment in Calormen for such a crime, and we here in Narnia like to maintain our alliance with Calormen in every possible respect."

The Tarkaan's face went white, and he stumbled backward, the riding crop slipping from his fingers and onto the stable floor. A moment later, he was on his knees, hands reaching placating towards the young kings, as Peter appeared suddenly behind his brother and Philip, two Narnian guards standing behind him, their swords at the ready.

Peter looked furious, and Philip wondered how much he had seen before bursting into the stable, wondered if he were angry with Philip as well, for failing to adequately protect his king. But surely, if Peter had seen the Tarkaan strike Edmund, he would have made his presence known far before now.

"Mercy, your Majesties...I did not know that it was you, O Just and Merciful One," these last words directed solely to King Edmund.

But Edmund was ignoring the Tarkaan completely now, apparently content to allow his brother to deal with him (he knew, as did Philip, that Peter would not really carry out with his threat, but would not be so noble as to turn down a chance to gain the upper hand in trading negotiations with Calormen).

Philip glanced at him as he moved forward into the stall, confused until Edmund was standing a mere pace away from the abused little mare. And then Edmund took another tiny step forward, hands held out in front of him as if to signify that he meant no harm before. The little mare let out a noise of distress, backing up against the far wall of the stall, her ears flattening in a way that might have been dangerous on any other horse, but merely looked pitiful on her.

"What's her name?" Edmund asked softly, and the Calormene seemed to take a moment before realizing the question was directed at him.

The Calormene snorted as he followed Edmund with his eyes, apparently not so afraid that he could curb the sound. "That one? She's a lost cause, Your Majesty. Hasn't done as she's been told in _years_. Be much better as meat pie-"

He cut off abruptly then, at the glare Peter levelled at him, evidently realizing he was still in some considerable trouble for striking the King of Narnia.

And then they were all watching, in varying degrees of astonishment, as Edmund reached out and touched the mare's mane, and the dumb little beast, beyond letting out another whimper of distress, did not move away from the gentle touch.

Edmund's eyes widened, apparently just as surprised as the rest of them, before he started moving his hand up and down her mane in gentle strokes, even as he assessed her injuries. She let out another little noise then, but this one seemed almost to be of pleasure, and Philip blinked in surprise.

Edmund whispered sweet, calming assurances to the little mare as he worked, stripping off a piece of his royal robes, rather than the stolen jacket, to wrap around her injured leg, face set in a grim line as he worked and the others watched him do so, as if watching a spell they were unwilling to break cast over the stall in which they were crowded.

Philip looked at the little mare then, for the first time really seeing her, and couldn't help the frown that lit his eyes.

She looked strangely like Nataoia, though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Lucy's Horse had once been a Calormene captive, after all.

Still, he wondered why that was his first thought, looking at the little mare whom Edmund was comforting. She was much smaller and thinner than Nataoia, after all.

And then Peter was snapping for the guards to take the Calormene away and stepping forward to assist Edmund, and the moment had passed.

"We should fetch a healer," Peter said finally, once Edmund was at least somewhat convinced that the little mare wasn't going to fall down from her injuries, and Edmund nodded, not even turning around from his vigil of the other horse as he asked, "Philip? Would you be so kind?"

Philip swallowed, about to suggest that they wait, as he didn't think it wise to leave the two kings alone and unguarded after what had just happened to Edmund, but then something shifted behind his eyes, and he shook out his mane, saying, "Of course, Your Majesty."

If he had stayed a moment longer, he might have heard the sigh which followed this use of the young King's title.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter kind of skips around a little, which is why it's so long.

Lucy Pevensie was not a girl to normally ignore the plights of others, but Edmund was frankly relieved when she walked into the breakfast room with her head buried in a book, neither looking left or right as she sank into a chair, not noticing a thing about her, narrowly missing falling on her bum, instead.

She glanced up from her little notebook, in which she was detailing any and all evidence she could find in Cair for the abuse of Talking Squirrels' freedom - a cause she'd taken up with fervor after seeing a poor squirrel taken advantage of in the marketplace - before she moved on to the rest of Narnia in her campaign. Said campaign had taken up nearly all of her time in the last few weeks, and, had Susan not ordered it, Edmund doubted she would have remembered to come to breakfast this morning.

The preoccupation on her pretty face vanished the moment she saw the wound on Edmund's face. "Oh, Edmund, what happened?"

"I'm fine," Edmund muttered automatically, for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, his face flushing a little as he thought of the way Susan had fussed over him this morning, as if he bore some great battle wound and not a mere scar on his face.

A scar that would not, it would seem, be going away for some time, according to the healer Susan had summoned last night, before sending Edmund to bed with a reprimanding look and a promise of coming to see that he was all right in the morning.

She had almost insisted that the healer use Lucy's cordial on the wound, but Edmund had begged off, reminding her that that was only used for the most serious of injuries, and it would be a waste on a scar that would heal and go away, within a few months. And the healer had agreed with Edmund, after some rather reluctant cajoling, that the most serious thing this injury required was some ice for the swelling and another application of salve in the morning.

Which Susan had insisted on being present for, as if she thought Edmund would try to get out of it if she didn't witness the event.

He was just glad that the Calormenes were too discomfited by the previous night to join them at their break of fast, as he didn't think he could abide an apology at the moment, on top of all of this fussing.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, setting aside the book - with obvious reluctance - before standing up as if to cross the table and reach him.

"Lucy..." he tried, but then she was demanding, "Was it one of those Calormenes?" in such a harsh voice, he was surprised it had come from his own sister. He glanced up sharply, and her face flushed as she glanced away.

"I only meant...Well, I saw one of them, yelling at a servant when they arrived. The servant looked so scared, and they looked like they were ready to start beating the poor man..." at Edmund's wince, her eyes widened. "What happened?"

Edmund sighed, realizing that he was only digging himself deeper into a hole, now. Susan had not even given him this much of a chance to explain himself, had simply turned to Peter and demanded that he do so, as if Edmund wasn't capable of speaking for himself.

If he was being honest with himself though, he found her mothering a little endearing, annoying though it mostly was.

"It's nothing, Lu, just a scratch," he exaggerated, because he couldn't see out of one of his eyes and the bruise forming above his lip was rather ugly and visible. Still, the healer, a kindly dryad, had given him something for the pain last night, and he hardly felt a thing. "I just...was in the wrong place at the wrong time." At her narrowed eyes, he went on, "I snuck out of the banquet last night to go riding with Philip, and stumbled across a little Calormene horse being beaten."

"Oh, my goodness!" Lucy cried out, face twisting in concern. "Was it all right?"

Edmund nodded. "She'll live, but have a difficult time being ridden or walking on that left leg for a while. Pete and I fixed her up as best we could last night."

"But...I don't understand, the Calormene saw the King of Narnia asking him not to beat his horse and hit you?" she sounded equal parts indignant and confused, and Edmund let out a long sigh.

"I...may not have looked exactly the part," he admitted sheepishly. "But I didn't think of that. I just wanted to get him away from her."

"And that," Susan said primly, though Edmund could still hear the concerned exasperation in her voice, entering the room with an air of grace about her that would almost make Edmund think she hadn't spent most of this morning acting like a maid for him, "is why you three shouldn't be trying to sneak off during important banquets." And then she was sitting down at the head of the table, and they awaited only Peter.

Edmund muttered something under his breath which sounded suspiciously like, "I didn't see what was so important about it," before quickly taking a sip of the warm milk sitting on the table before him, and Lucy let out a sound that was much like a giggle before burying her head in her book once more.

Susan shot them both disapproving looks before lifting her eyes to the ceiling and letting out a noise of frustration.

When Peter finally did appear, his face was haggard, making him appear much older than he was, and he sat down with a tired sigh, looking ready to bury his face in his hands and sleep until tomorrow.

For a moment, as he sipped his own milk and didn't acknowledge the rest of them, Edmund was afraid he would forego this in honor of falling asleep with his face in his cup, but then he lifted his head and gave them all a tired smile.

"Sorry," he muttered, not sounding anything but exhausted. "The Calormene delegation kept me up for most of the night."

"The Calormene delegation?" Susan asked, surprising belying the unconcerned air she was affecting. "What could they possibly want?"

Peter glanced at Edmund. "To make reparations for the way their man treated a King of Narnia," he said, and his voice suddenly took on a dark quality that made Edmund shiver, wondering what that man's fate had been.

"I should have been there," Edmund said quietly, though there was no anger behind his words, only a grim sort of disappointment that he had not even been consulted, only sent to bed like a child.

He understood that the man had to be punished, and quickly, for striking a king of Narnia, but was rather annoyed that he had not been invited to this meeting. After all, his wound hardly hurt now, and he was far more concerned about the fate of the horse than a simple cut, even if the Calormene's demeanor toward servants left much to be desired.

"You needed to rest," Peter told him, not exactly gently, but he didn't sound angry, either. Almost...amused? Edmund scowled.

"And?" Susan asked, from the other end of the table. "What was agreed on?"

Peter was silent for a moment, staring at Edmund as if searching for something, and Edmund had to force himself not to squirm, as the eyes of his other two siblings came to rest on him, as well.

"The Calormenes will be more...agreeable, to the Narnian's plights toward our Treaty. And...as reparations for what happened to Edmund...the horse stays in Narnia," Peter said finally, turning to Edmund. "You'll find someone to take care of her until she recovers, I expect?"

Edmund grinned. "I think I can manage that."

* * *

The horse was still in the same stall when Edmund and Lucy found her in the royal stables, and Edmund felt a stab of anger at that, for surely someone must have realized that she would be frightened, left alone as she had been.

Edmund had insisted on going to see the poor animal the moment the break of fast was completed, and Lucy had agreed to come, as it would seem this was the only way to save Edmund from more of Susan's fussing, and besides, she wanted to see the horse whom Edmund had rescued. Strangely enough, or perhaps not so strangely, they encountered no Calormen on their way through the stables, and when they finally made it to the little stall where the mare had been kept the day before, Edmund recognized the horse's long mane as she calmly ate the oats sitting in a bag hooked to the stall door before her, not even glancing up as they came closer.

He motioned Lucy back, even as he stepped into the stall after the little mare, not wanting her to become overwhelmed by the thought of the two of them ganging up on her.

Someone had been in to finish the work Edmund had begun on the little mare last night, doing the best that he could with the limited supplies he'd had at the time, and now the mare was bandaged and cleaned, looking so well groomed now that he barely recognized her, if not for the little white star on her forehead.

"She's beautiful," Lucy whispered behind him, smiling. And then she frowned, and he could see the thoughts flashing through her head; that, while the squirrels here in Narnia were not receiving the proper protections that they should, neither were any of the creatures in neighboring countries, unprotected completely.

He turned around just as she was pulling out her little notebook again, scribbling furiously into it, lost to the happenings around her.

Edmund smiled, turning back to the horse and leaving Lucy to her writings. He didn't bother to ask what they entailed; he felt certain that, beyond what he could already guess, he would hear all about them at the next council meeting, he was sure.

"Hey there, girl," Edmund kept his voice deliberately soft, not wanting to spook the frightened little creature as he moved closer. She let out a startled noise, but did not move as Edmund took another slow step forward.

Then, her head reared up, the palpable fear in her eyes causing them to shine, almost as if they were filled with tears, and Edmund's eyes widened as he held up his empty hands, attempting to show the horse that he meant no harm.

"Easy," he murmured, and this time, his foot crunched against the straw on the floor of the stall, rather than dirt, and he winced at the sound, even as the little mare's legs reared up and she stumbled backward, attempting to get away and fight back at the same time.

"Edmund," Lucy whispered harshly, worry bleeding into her voice as she finally glanced up from her book, and the mare snorted at this, head rearing as she backed herself into further into the stall.

Edmund took a deep breath, for he understood that, scared though the mare may be, she was also much larger and stronger than he, even in her weakened condition, and if he wasn't careful, she could very well trample him purely from her own fright.

And then he reached his hand out to her, brought it up slowly, as her frightened, wide eyes watched it so intently, to show that he meant no harm, and gently pressed it against her skin.

The mare let out a noise much like distress, her muscles quivering and tensing underneath his touch, but she did not pull away. She simply turned her head and stared at him. Deep into his eyes, as if she could see something within them, behind them, something that she understood, and Edmund wondered at that.

He did not have much experience with Dumb Horses. Back in...that other place, he didn't think he'd spent much time around them, most likely preferring to read about them in books, and there was not much chance to befriend dumb horses in Narnia, as there were so few of those. When he visited Archenland or Calormen, or the Lone Islands, there was always a chance of doing so there, but those horses always belonged to someone else, and he didn't quite know how to approach them, at any rate.

They could not talk, and yet he knew they would understand men in some ways. The trouble was, Edmund was not the talkative sort. Not usually, and wouldn't have known what to say to a horse, not when he did not even know if they could understand him back.

And yet, looking into this little mare's eyes, he suddenly felt as though he had known her old, tortured soul forever, had been with her during her time in Calormen, knew everything that she had endured there to make her what she now was, and he couldn't explain the connection.

He blinked, breaking eye contact with the mare for the first time, and she turned away, burying her head in the hay at her feet and chomping at it, apparently having found Edmund trustworthy enough to be uninteresting.

He glanced back at Lucy, who grinned at him, before running his hand along the horse's mane. She tensed once more at the moving touch, and then seemed to shrug, going back to her chewing.

"Does she have a name?" Lucy asked then, pulling him out of the strange muse into which he had found himself, and Edmund blinked at her, and then down at the horse.

He doubted she would appreciate it if he went and asked the Calormen what the horse's name had been, for he had found that, in his experience, Horses usually named themselves.

And yet...he wasn't exactly sure how to cross that hurdle.

"What are we to call you, eh?" Edmund murmured, more to himself than to the animal, running his fingers gently through her mane, frankly surprised that she'd allowed him to touch her this long.

"Rheanna?" he thought of the first name off of the top of his head, and thought that it was not a very Calormene name, but before he could think of another, the mare turned her head and gave him such a glare that he might have thought...

"All right," he chuckled, the sound low and meant to be soothing, and he thought he saw the horse relax. "Well, we'll just have to think of something else to call you." He thought for a moment. "Zihna?" That sounded much more Calormene, but the horse didn't react to the name at all, and if there was one thing he knew about horses, it was that they were incredibly stubborn creatures when they wanted to be, Talking or Otherwise.

"Well," he mused aloud, catching Lucy's amused expression out of the corner of his eyes. "We have to think of something. For a horse of Narnia must have a name."

The horse did not respond to this, only flipped her mane carelessly before turning away from him, and Edmund smirked, oddly reminded of Philip.

* * *

The mare recovered slowly, the wounds on her back healing before she made an effort not to flinch in the presence of others, but it was not until the Calormene delegation had left Narnia that she finally allowed herself to open up.

She even let Edmund wash her down, that day, which he was rather relieved for, as he didn't think Susan and Lucy would appreciate the stench of filthy horse every time they met for meals.

But he could not be with the mare every day; he had his duties as King to attend to, even if they were not so great now that their foreign guests had returned home, and the summer harvest not for several more weeks.

Yet, he found himself worrying about her even while he was away, worrying that some stable boy would spook her, that she would succumb to her injuries again and no one would notice until he came to see her around midday.

Lucy thought it was endearing, and often managed to find a way to take over his duties without him noticing the subterfuge until later, so intent was he to get back to the mare. Sometimes, she even came with him.

"You're the only one she ever seems to act happy around," Lucy pointed out one day, after another failed attempt to pet the mare had gone awry, and Edmund was now brushing her in an attempt to calm her down.

Edmund smiled gently. "She's just used to me. She'll get used to you soon enough."

Lucy glanced between the horse and Edmund, noticing how the mare seemed to move closer to Edmund at the words, as though she were afraid Lucy would take the words to mean that she should try and get close to her, as Edmund had.

She smiled. "Do you think she'll be up to riding again?"

Edmund frowned, no longer focusing on brushing the horse to turn to Lucy once more, almost surprised at the fact that he'd turned his back on the little mare. He may be trying to show her that there was nothing to be afraid of, that including herself, but still.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I haven't even taken her out into the pastures yet, since she's so scared of everything."

Lucy glanced back at the little horse, and then down at the little book which never seemed to be far from her hands. "Maybe she needs to be outside for a little," she said finally. "Even if it's not to ride, and just to...be free."

* * *

The idea was a good one, Edmund could not deny that. He certainly thought that this horse could get out for a while, could leave the wretched palace stalls, especially now that her tormentor was back in Calormen and she would not accidentally see him.

Getting her out of the stables, however, proved much harder than Edmund had been anticipating.

"Perhaps some carrots," Susan suggested, from where she sat on the lawn, knitting contentedly and pretending not to be amused by Edmund's struggles to get the little mare to leave the protection of the stables for the wild open fields.

Peter and Lucy were at Court, busily working with the dwarves for some sort of a solution to their latest loss of shipment, stolen by pirates on the border, before it could even reach Galma. The problem was such that Peter could have handled it on his own had he wished to, but Lucy had insisted on coming along, as the East was her domain, and she would see the dwarves again, as she had gone some time without doing so, and enjoyed their presence, as well as, Edmund supposed, their songs.

Edmund sighed, momentarily pondering whether he should leave the little horse alone, even if she had Susan to watch over her, long enough to go and get said carrots, and then deciding that the ends justified the means and trotted off.

When he returned, two carrots in hand, it was to see Susan standing in front of the little mare, staring down at her with a baffled expression on her face.

"I could have sworn..." Susan started to say, and then shrugged.

Edmund walked forward, handing Susan one of the carrots and then taking the other in hand, motioning for the horse to follow them as, on cue, they both backed out of the stables and out into the sunshine.

The other Horses and several of the stable boys were watching on with amusement, waiting for the mare to respond.

She stood silent for a moment, before taking one unsure step forward and stopping completely, staring at the two monarchs stubbornly.

Edmund sighed. "Come on, Myrenna, I promise you'll like the carrots," he tried, only to receive a glare from the horse.

He was unsure whether this was because of the name, or the carrots.

Behind him, Susan let out a noise that was somewhere between a whistle and a coo, as he knew her to be incapable of whistling (it was something he and his siblings often teased her about good naturedly, after all), and then, much to his surprise, the mare was moving forward, brushing idly past him to stand in front of Susan on the grass, chomping down the carrot in the Queen's hands in one clean bite.

Susan smiled brightly, lifting a delicate hand to brush at the mare's mane, her smile widening even more as the little horse nipped at her shoulder, letting out a sound that just might have been a whinny.

Edmund smirked. At least they had managed to get the mare outside.

* * *

He had not seen Philip in some time, since he'd taken charge of the Calormene mare, in fact, and Edmund wondered if this had been by the other's design (though he could not for the life of him imagine why) or because he had simply been too busy with said mare for anyone else.

The thought sent a flash of guilt through him, that he'd been ignoring everyone else in favor of the sickly little mare, even if she thrived under the attention, and he sent Philip a reassuring smile. "Philip."

"Your Majesty," Philip sounded surprised to see him, or perhaps surprised to be acknowledged, and Edmund blinked at that.

"Edmund," he corrected automatically, and wondered how many times he'd asked Philip to call him that, and how many more he would have to before the Horse actually did so unthinkingly.

"How...how is the Calormene mare?" Philip asked, surprising Edmund, for those had not been the first words he was expecting from the horse, but he smiled.

"She's doing much better now," Edmund said, unable to keep the excitement from bleeding into his voice. "She's even walking around outside now, and I'm hoping to be able to ride her soon."

At that, Philip's face seemed to fall, though Edmund couldn't imagine why. "I see," was all he said, voice subdued. "Well then, I'm very happy for her."

Edmund nodded. "Would...would you like to go for a ride now? I suppose I don't really need to see to her now; I've already seen her today, after all, and she was doing just fine, then."

Although he had been looking forward to sharing some of the sugar cubes he'd found in the kitchen earlier with her; she seemed to enjoy those more than anything, and it gave him a little thrill that she did, for she seemed to find so little enjoyment out of her lot in life, with the vacant, frightened look in her eyes dominating any other emotion handedly.

Philip appeared to stiffen then, before sending him an indecipherable look. "I do believe General Oreius has need of me just now, Your Majesty, to help strengthen the outer defenses of the castle. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Edmund blinked in surprise, for he'd never known Philip to turn down a ride through the fields, even if most Horses found being rode somewhat offensive. He'd thought the Horse enjoyed them. "All right, then. See you."

Philip nodded and moved on to the end of the stables, walking out, still looking distant, and Edmund stared after him for a moment before shrugging and moving to go to his little mare, as he'd originally intended before the sight of the Horse had stopped him.

She was still in her stall, even though the door to the stall was opened, in the hopes that she would attempt to come out of it on her own accord.

The Royal Stables of Narnia were not a place where the horses were generally kept locked in, after all, and Edmund had thought that, presented with the choice, she might choose to go out into the fields on her own today.

No such luck. She did, however, look slightly pleased at the sight of him.

He stepped into the stall, being careful not to block her chance of exit completely, before holding out one of the sugar cubes in the flat of his hand. She moved forward immediately, chomping it up without a second thought.

"Jezinah?"

Annoyed, she did not even dignify that one with a response, and only took another bite of the sugar.

* * *

It was storming when Edmund woke up.

An ugly, horrific storm that seemed to rock the very foundations of Cair Paravel, the world outside his window black and blue and filled with pouring rain and the occasional burst of lightning.

Edmund hated storms.

He always had; even coming from the Other place, he didn't think he had liked storms, then.

He made it to the breakfast hall at the same time Peter and the King of Terebinthia did, deeply entrenched in their conversing, both only looking up to give Edmund a curt nod before returning to it, and then there were others flooding into the hall, and Edmund found his seat, beside Lucy, before someone else took it.

The Terebinthians had arrived in Narnia earlier that morning, and Susan had invited them to their late break of fast as a cordiality; normally, the four monarchs took their breakfast together, alone from the rest of the world, or at the very least with close friends if they could help it, an almost sacred practice to them, and this was why Lucy's eyes widened at the invitation, why Peter, who had been looking forward to a stress-free meal, allowed his shoulders to sag in defeat. Edmund only sighed, the only response which got a glare from Susan, and scooted over so that the older man moving to sit beside him had adequate space at the table.

They ate for some time, Edmund attempting to keep track of the many conversations, for he knew that the Terebinthians were in desperate need of the Narnian dwarves' precious metals, while Narnia did not have quite the need for lumber, but was willing to compromise for other assets they could find from the little island nation.

Still, it was rather early in the morning for such things, and Edmund was barely able to focus on his meal, much less the negotiations.

He did not, however, have much time to do even this, before the double doors to the breakfast hall burst open and a young valet ran into the room, calling out his name.

Edmund glanced up sharply, not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed, until the young man gave his message.

"King Edmund!"

Susan glanced at the young man then, too, for, even if she had relaxed their unspoken rule of having guests at the breakfast hall, Edmund was reasonably sure that she, like the rest of them, was not so keen on being interrupted during her meal.

The valet stopped just behind him, leaning over to whisper urgently in his ear, and it was then that Edmund realized he was soaking wet, from head to toe. "It's that mare you've taken a fancy to, Sire, she's scared of the storm, scaring the other horses, too, Sire. Can't get her to calm down like you can, Sire, and, well, didn't mean to be a bother, but..."

Edmund glanced out the window behind him again, the one which he'd purposefully planted himself in front of so that he would not have to look out it, and sighed. Of course she would be scared of the storm. The only things close to this in Calormen that she may have suffered through were the sandstorms, and Edmund had heard these to be fatal.

He stood, setting aside his napkin and making his excuses as quickly as he could, before following the valet out to the royal stables.

By the time they made it, he was drenched, even if he had pulled his robes up in a half-hearted attempt to shield his head from the rain, and rather grateful when the valet slammed the stable doors behind them, shutting away the dreadful storm, even if he could still hear it quite clearly.

The little mare, no longer in her stall but standing out in the middle of the stables, shaking, let out a noise of protest at the loud bang this made, backing herself against the far wall of the stable, nostrils flaring as her eyes widened in fear, letting out a sound of distress, and Edmund glanced at her. His elation at seeing her finally leave her stall of her own volition was quickly overshadowed by her the fear he saw radiating off of her, and he took a step forward, being careful to advance slowly as he reached out for her and ran a hand through her mane comfortingly.

Distracted, she didn't notice the valet sneak around her to see to the other horses, as he'd needed to.

"Don't like the storm?" Edmund asked her gently, knowingly, and the horse just blinked at him, in a way that said No, of course not.

He smiled. "No, I don't suppose you'd get many of these, in Calormen." She didn't react; at least, not in the way he was hoping she would, by calming down. Instead, she reared back even farther, and for one moment he was afraid she was going to trample him. Even if she was a small creature, for a horse, he was much smaller than her.

She must have seen the flash of fear in his eyes, must have, even more oddly, understood it, for her hooves hit the ground then, thudding against it far more softly than he'd thought they would, and her head lowered, though her ears were still flat, the muscles of her back rippling from her fear.

"I didn't like them, either, Before," he said softly, and imagined that the mare's ears perked up at this, even as she continued to ignore him in lieu of letting out cries of distress at each sound of thunder. "I used to think they were actually bombs falling, instead of thunder," he went on, brows furrowing at the faraway memory, one he hardly remembered at all, now. Bombs...this seemed a foreign word, one which made little sense to him now in Narnia, but which he associated with fire and screams and death, even if he could not remember what, precisely, they were.

"Father would always..." he gulped, for if the memory of bombs was difficult, the memory of Father was even more so. He vaguely remembered a man with an old wooden pipe, hair dark like Edmund's, always happy, but the memory was a distant one, too distant to truly hold onto.

Too much, these days, did he attribute that word either to Peter, in the sense that he was the eldest of their group, the one who protected and cared for them (as a father should), or Aslan. But Father...he knew that he must have had a real father, back in the Before, in the Spare Room, even if he could not entirely remember the man beyond the slightest of glimpses, the most faded memories.

Somehow, he did not think this was entirely due to his loss of memories of the Before when he entered Narnia.

"He would tell me stories, when the thunder hit, before the bombs, and it would make me feel better." He gulped. Father had disappeared after a while, even if he couldn't remember how or why, and the thunder had continued. Peter told him stories in this world, when he needed them, even if his fear of thunder was significantly dulled in this world, but he hadn't, in that Before.

After the bombs had come, the stories had stopped, though Edmund couldn't quite remember why.

He wondered why he was telling a dumb horse this, why he thought the words sounded so comforting, and not only for her sake.

She may have only been a dumb animal, but Edmund loved all of the creatures of Narnia equally, happened to think that the ones which talked were not as dumb as all Talking Beasts were led to believe. The mice at Aslan's Table had been proof of that.

"Perhaps...perhaps you'd like a story?" he asked the little mare, and imagined that her eyes were eager and wide with interest, and not with fear.

He thought for a moment, wondering if he remembered enough stories by heart to entertain her until the storm was over, and then began the first that he could think of.

"Once upon a time..."

* * *

And he regaled her, that night, with tales of Narnian creatures, tales mothers told their children at night to help them to sleep, because somehow, this seemed right with the storytelling his father had once told him. Tales of knights in shining armor, going on noble quests, or dryads dancing in the Woods, and of Horses running through meadows, intent of important missions. Some of them he made up, some he remembered, but not from this World. He almost told her of knights saving damsels in distress from evil witches, for he was certain he'd heard that tale somewhere, but the mention of witches quickly made him veer into another story.

The horse did not seem to mind. She simply stood there, beside him, the muscles so tightly bunched in her neck and shoulders slowly relaxing, the fear in her eyes still present every time there was another clap of thunder, but, slowly, even this faded, too.

He told her a tale, at some point, late into the night, of a dryad, named Nimona, who fell in love with a dwarf but couldn't be with him, as she could not bear the thought of leaving the sun and her sister trees behind forever. For his part, he could only come into the Woods but once a year, cursed to live beneath the ground long ago, as all of his kin were, and so the two lovers thought they would never see each other but once a year. But then Aslan had come, had bestowed on her any wish her heart desired, and she wanted nothing more than to come and go with her lover as she pleased. Seeing that their love was noble and true, Aslan turned her into a naiad, able to swim into the river inside the caves of the dwarves to see her lover whenever she pleased.

By the end of this tale, Edmund was yawning, and he vaguely realized that the storm had abated, the sound of thunder long since dying out into the night.

And the little mare was calm, watching him wide, almost, he fancied, interested eyes.

"Nimona?" he yawned out, just before sleep claimed him. He didn't mind though; this was an entirely comfortable pile of hay, and someone would come and find him, come morning.

And the name seemed to stick.


End file.
